Sitting there on those granite boulders
Radiating your mid-American chic as well as you can,
The water falling behind you has long since
Repeatedly cycled and impinged on this your yellowed print.
It was easy for me to think of your life
Since we parted as one long drag.
But that doesn't explain why you struck a chord
That first night I asked you to dance at the Rainbow,
The wrench of stumbling phone calls,
Idealizing fantasies, and later
The surreptitious glances on each
Drive past the place where we used to park.
Perhaps you once had a vision of us among
Those bright varnished benches with light
Streaming through the slightly garish stained glass,
There among the cologne-washed incense smells.
If so Nelda, I know now I should have been flattered.